pink

one

the first time i saw her was the first day of freshman year. i sat behind her in geography, uncomfortable as can be in a green shirt and black polo. stupid fucking uniform, stupid fucking school. but oh, there she was. her strawberry blonde hair fell over her shoulders like a waterfall, half covering the black tank top she wore.

"beatrice!" some girl a few seats from me called, and she whipped her head around to look at the girl before smiling. and there she was. golden and so beautiful, i wondered if she might break just from my touch. and in that moment, beatrice had me in the palm of her hand.

her eyes wandered along the row of desks before landing on me. she crinkled her nose, leaning back in her chair. "we aren't s'posed to have colored hair." she said, reaching out to twirl a lock of my silver hair around her index finger. "it's natural", i lied, making eye contact with her. she didn't bother responding to me, instead choosing to jump out of her chair like it was hot and dash towards the door, falling into the embrace of a girl who looked about 5',2, with blonde hair and a 6 foot scrap of a boy holding her hand like she'd wander away if he didn't.

later that day, i learned the girl was rose, and that she was mean. i learned this when i tried to grab a sugar cookie in the lunch line, and she swatted my hand, looking at me like a lion looks at their next meal. "might wanna lay off the cookies. fucking faggot."  she said, looking me up and down. i stared at my shoes, feeling tears well up in my eyes before dropping the empty lunch tray and darting to the girls bathroom.

feeling my mind race, i did the only thing i could do, and called my dad.

"h-hey, could you pick me up? i'm-"
"billie i'm in a fucking meeting. can you just act like a big girl for once? thank you. i'll be waiting when you get home, i want to talk to you."

and with that, the line went dead. i sank to the floor, soft sobs escaping my lips as my chest heaved. i know what talking when i get home means, and i don't want to hide any more bruises. i should have never called him, what was i thinking?

beatrice sat across from me in art that day. she pretended not to notice my bloodshot eyes or scratchy voice, and kept her head down as she listened to ms fal talk about our course.

the next few weeks went by the same way, in a fog of grey skies and concealer all over my arms and legs. beatrice sat by me every day in art, and pretended her best friend wasn't responsible for the permanently swollen eyes she skipped over when she stole glances i pretended i didn't see. i ate lunch every day under the stairway, and somehow acquired a larger size polo, one that almost covered the hem of my skirt.

one day, the bruises were too big to conceal, and i missed 5 days of school. on the third day, beatrice knocked on my door, her hands clasped in front of her chest anxiously and her uniform stripped away, replaced with a pink sundress, conforming that her favorite color was pink. i'd noticed that her pink colored pencil was much smaller than her other ones, so i assumed.

she looked at me, really looked at me. studied me. her eyes ran over the shirt that was too big on me, with a great white drawn on it, and she traced my silver strands with her eyes, finally settling on my eyes, staring into them until i broke eye contact, realizing she was still standing in the doorway, and i hadn't said a word to her.

"why are you here, beatrice?" i asked, suddenly overwhelmingly self conscious about the smell of alcohol i know lingered in my house, and my own tired, disheveled appearance. "i was worried about you. ms fal made me sit with lily." she stated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "i don't like sharks" she whispered, her eyes falling to my shirt once more. i sighed and moved to the side, a silent invitation for her to come in.